


Fortune Is On Our Side

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Psych
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-03
Updated: 2007-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1638665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you just have to trust to luck,  last-second ideas, and Tamagotchis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune Is On Our Side

**Author's Note:**

> Written for elishavah

 

 

Author's Note: I am taking total creative liberty on the subject of how Gus interacts with his family. It isn't a large part of the fic, but I wouldn't be surprised if canon later reveals my hasty interpretation to be inaccurate. In that case, please forgive me.

I hope this is something like what you wanted. Happy 2007!

+++++++

Fortune Is On Our Side

+++++++

Shawn sauntered into the office, and not only because he was an hour late to meet Gus. It wasn't his fault, either. Things... well, things came up.

But that's not the point. Shawn didn't saunter in only because he was late, and sauntering in when late was the best way to irritate Gus, and irritating Gus until Gus was forced to drop his "normal office guy" facade and retaliate in a juvenile but liberating manner was on Shawn's New Year's Resolutions every year (sometimes as number 3, behind getting to know the cute girl at the yogurt place on the beach and getting out of California before boredom or his dad caught up with him); no, Shawn was sauntering in because they had a case.

And it was a good one.

"No cases," Gus said, before Shawn could even open his mouth. This was getting to be a really bad habit of Gus's, and something Shawn ought to nip in the bud. "And where the hell were you? You're--"

"An hour late, yes, yes; blame traffic and kittens in trees," Shawn said vaguely, waving his free hand. The other hand was behind his back, hiding the case file. "Now, about that first thing you said..."

"No cases, Shawn." Gus paused. "Kittens?"

"Just another day in the life of a superhero." Shawn sat down on the desk, pausing only to push a dying Tamagotchi out of the way (was that his? When did he get a Tamagotchi? Oh, right, two weeks ago, when they were investigating that little "Everything 90s" shop. He'd meant to sneak it into Lassiter's coat pocket). "About that 'no cases' thing you said..."

"I'm going on vacation."

"The Chief wants us out of it because it's an inside thing and you're what?" Shawn's ears had finally caught up with the rest of him. "Wait, Gus, no! You can't go on vacation--"

"You dragged me out on a case on Christmas," Gus said, his voice low and seething. "And again on New Year's Eve!"

"About that New Year's Eve thing," Shawn said, shifting uncomfortably. "That wasn't exactly a case--"

"Two weeks," Gus snapped. He'd started to stand up when Shawn began excusing the New Year's thing, which had been an awesome party and much better than whatever work thing Gus had been dragged out to by his other coworkers, but he'd gotten himself back under control and back to the point in a way that wasn't entirely typical of Gus. "And I'll call you when I'm back in town."

"Back in town?" Shawn couldn't believe this. "Gus! This is our chance to investigate a dirty cop!"

"Shawn." Gus's face was locked into an incredulous gape. Not the best expression on his face, but one Shawn enjoyed nevertheless. "We can't investigate cops. That's--that's inviting them to investigate us!"

"So?" And like cops didn't have better things to do. Shawn settled back on the desk and smirked. "What do we have to hide?"

"Oh, I don't know. The fact that you're not a psychic?"

"Gus! They can't prove that, and besides, who says it's against the law to be a fake psychic?" Shawn raised his hand when Gus opened his mouth and said, "Ms Cleo has only ever had to pay fines."

"You know what?" Gus stood up, grabbing his coat and briefcase. "You have fun investigating the police. Have a lot fun."

"Gus..."

"I'm going to be visiting relatives for the next two weeks."

"Now I know you're a pod person. Running out on me to visit family? You don't even like your family!"

Gus turned at the door and looked at Shawn with a weary sort of irritation. "That's why I only see them on Christmas. But someone crashed that, and now I'm stuck making a two week visit."

Shawn would normally have a brilliant idea right about now. "Can't you just call them?"

Gus snorted. "See you in two weeks, Shawn. Don't get arrested."

The door shut behind him and Shawn turned a disbelieving face to the Tamagotchi. "Now that, my little digital friend, was a cry for help if I've ever heard one."

The Tamagotchi, caught up in the drama of the moment, died.

+++++++

Rescuing Gus from relatives was a task that should be approached with reserve and tact, which is why Shawn's first thought was to drug Gus's smoothie again. But he hated pulling the same scheme twice. Besides, it hadn't happened long enough in the past for Gus not to be suspicious.

But Gus didn't even want to go, and that had to count for something! It wasn't like Gus's family would begrudge him the time to put a crook behind bars, and celebrate such a virtuous act in high style with his best friend and partner in crime-thwarting capers.

Capers? Now there was a ridiculous word.

Shawn parked his motorcycle a block away from Gus's apartment building without consciously realizing it was to minimize the chances of letting Gus get his guard up any further. Gus was packing--an oversight; he should have been packed and ready to leave the second he told Shawn he was skipping out on a case. And Gus knew that.

And that was only further proof that Gus did, actually, want to be saved from having to visit relatives. "You see that?" Shawn said, pulling the Tamagotchi out of his pocket. "Gus needs our help."

The newly resurrected Tamagotchi responded favorably, once Shawn gave it something to eat.

Now, from the look of things, Gus should have just about everything packed, and if Shawn were to wait until he was getting into the driver's seat like so, and dash around this van and hop into the passenger's seat like so, he should be able to shut the door safely just as Gus started the car rolling.

Gus did not look happy, but that didn't stop Shawn from smiling brightly and saying, "Hi!"

Gus put on the brakes. "Get out of the car, Shawn."

"Mmm, no." Shawn buckled his seat belt. "I want to see the family, too."

"Get out of the car, Shawn!"

"Keep it down! You'll wake up my Tamagotchi."

"You know what? Fine." Gus put the car back in gear and pulled out onto the street, starting to grin. "Let's go see the family. You'll jump out of the car before we're out of Santa Barbara, just like after high school graduation."

"I forgot my mortarboard," Shawn said stiffly.

"Of course you did."

Something had to be done. The tension over this "vacation" was making Gus snippy. No way was that good for him. Shawn settled in to brood. He'd have an idea before the next stop light.

"Hey, can I drive?"

"Not on your life, Shawn."

+++++++

Shawn finished the game and beamed when the Tamagotchi's happiness levels went up. "Look, Gus! Our Tamagotchi is happy. We should name him."

"Since when is it ours?" Gus slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "Oh, come on!"

Traffic had been slow the whole way down to the freeway, and now Shawn could see why. "Ooh, an accident. Looks bad. That's not a good omen for your little road trip, Gus. Better skip out. Here, call the family from my cell--"

"I'm not--" Gus stopped when he got a look at the phone, or more specifically, the screen. "You got my mother's number programmed into this thing?"

"Emergency contacts, duh," Shawn said, taking the phone back. "What if something happens to you? One of us has to be responsible, Gus."

Sometimes, Shawn thought he lived for the look Gus was giving him right now.

"I'll just get on the freeway farther on," Gus said, shaking it off.

"You think so?" Shawn snapped on the radio and tuned it to the traffic news, which informed them both of the situation. "Yeah, that'll work, if you want to take five hours to get five miles."

More steering wheel slamming, and then Gus jabbed at the radio, turning it off. "Damn it, Shawn!"

"What did I do?"

"I don't know!"

"I didn't do anything, Gus, it's--"

"If you didn't do anything, then why are you so smug?"

If Shawn weren't such a generous soul, he would've been offended by that remark. "I'm not smug. I'm pleased that Fortune is on our side--"

"Our side?"

"--and making it easier for you not to do what you don't want to do." Shawn patted Gus's shoulder, reflecting on how much nicer the world was when traffic accidents were on his side. "C'mon, Gus. You don't want to be locked up with family for two whole weeks, while life passes you by! How much work are you missing, anyway?"

"Shawn." Gus wasn't really trying to get a word in, so Shawn overrode him with the ease of long practice.

"You don't want to get out of that groove, do you? You'll come back two weeks later and the pharmaceutical sales rep will have bled right out of you. Your edge will be gone." This was really good stuff. If being a psychic ever stopped being fun, unlikely a prospect though it may be, Shawn thought he might take a turn as a personal coach.

"What I don't want to do is investigate a cop," Gus snapped.

"Okay, bud, okay, we can work with this," Shawn said, continuing with the patting until Gus knocked his hand away with a frustrated growl. "Let's get some lunch while we're working with it, though. I don't think well on an empty stomach."

"One more reason to let you starve. Let me guess; lunch is on me?"

"Is that an offer? Gus! You're such a gentleman! There was a diner a block back."

+++++++

"I hate you," Gus hissed, and ducked when the gun swung their way.

"Hey, how was I supposed to know our crooked cop was going to visit this place?" Shawn whispered back with as much indignant pride as he could manage while cowering in a booth in one of the less exemplary examples of a Ma and Pa diner.

So maybe he'd been a little more vocal than he should've been about the case, giving more and more details the more Gus refused to entertain helping him with the case. Maybe he'd made it sound like the police department was a little more certain than they were about Mark Nuemann's dealings with a few crooks about a few illegal substances. Maybe he shouldn't have said the cops had enough to nail the guy, anyway, so he and Gus might as well get involved, and get out there in the spotlight again.

Maybe, if he hadn't, Nuemann would've been off to Mexico already, before anyone was expecting him to run.

"This isn't my fault," Shawn added, just to be clear.

"It's always your fault. You do these things on purpose."

"Gus? I'm good, but I'm not that good. I can't direct the psychos to meet us at diners."

"Would you two shut up?" Nuemann demanded, waving the gun a bit hysterically. Shawn and Gus obligingly shut up, watching him with no small amount of trepidation. Nueman didn't really take to the role of crooked cop well, Shawn noted. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, or eaten well in a month. He was obviously aware that he was under suspicion, if not investigation, and couldn't handle it.

Or was the reason he was so strung out because he wasn't just helping to sell the wares, but was sampling them as well? Taking a look at the man's just perceptible shakes, Shawn didn't think it was too unlikely.

And then it was more than obvious, because Nuemann started talking to himself. Or maybe he was continuing. "They don't know. They don't know. I can still get out; I can get out with everything."

"Dude, what do you think he's coming down from?" Shawn whispered to Gus.

"I deal prescription drugs, Shawn. I don't know what his deal is."

"That was almost funny, Gus--"

"Shut up!" Nuemann shouted again, his voice winding up almost to a falsetto shriek. Shawn tried to sink under the booth again.

He'd taken the whole diner hostage upon hearing Shawn's monologue to Gus and interpreting it into god knows what; the cook had made it out the back but there was an elderly couple still sipping their coffee a few booths down and a waitress trying to hide behind the counter. A couple of teens in punk regalia looked about ready to piss their pants and cry for their mommies; doing a good job living up to the image, Shawn felt. But the cook had it made it out, which meant the cops were on their way. And that meant that it was not the time for heroics. At least, not yet. Not until there was a viable audience.

Or until the Tamagotchi, sitting on the table next to Shawn's hand, decided to demand something in the form of a loud electronic beep.

It was a little like slow-motion. Nuemann swung around with the grace of a crack-addicted ballerina, the gun out and ready, with a savage cry of "spying on me!" hanging in the air almost as long as the sound of the shot.

The Tamagotchi died. For good.

Across the diner, one of the punk kids started to cry.

And the diner suddenly swelled with officers.

+++++++

"I'm sorry, Lass--er, Detective," Shawn said, correcting himself when it seemed Lassiter's veins were about to pop out of his forehead. "But this is, in fact, an accident. An act of the cosmos, and not in any way due to my, or Gus's, power."

"No `psychic vibes' at all?" Lassiter asked, his teeth gritted to the point where Shawn was getting a headache.

"Well, I admit that, once we were in here, I could feel that there was a great deal of negative energy," Shawn said, and then caught Gus's glare. "But that was after the fact. Gus and I were just on our way out of town."

"Out of town?" Lassiter's features suddenly relaxed. "Really. How long do you plan to be gone? Are you going somewhere far, far away?"

"San Jose, actually," Gus said, butting into the conversation and smiling easily. "For two weeks. We just stopped for lunch. Any chance we can clear out of here before rush hour?"

"Oh, please, hurry along," Lassiter said, positively beaming. Shawn was starting to feel like he wasn't wanted there. "The accident should be cleared up soon, if it hasn't been already."

"Thanks," Gus said, and pulled Shawn along before Shawn could say anything--a first.

Shawn managed to shake Gus's arm off just as Lassiter called after them, "Have a nice trip!"

"Gus! We totally could've milked that!" Shawn said. "What were you thinking?"

"Get in the car, Shawn," Gus said tolerantly. Shawn stopped, recent events catching up with him. He was being included in Gus's trip to visit relatives. He had to get in the car, or have a psychic vision that allowed him to get out of there without being dragged back to the station just for fun by Lassiter, who would discover the case file Shawn had filched from the station--

The case file--

"In the car, Shawn, or I hand this off to Lassiter," Gus said, and held up the file Shawn had left in the booth. Shawn stared at it, and then up at Gus, before smoothing his expression out to a grudging smile.

"Okay, Gus." Well, he was asking for it, wasn't he? Shawn sat back in the passenger seat and smirked. They wouldn't be there for two weeks, anyway; not if Shawn had his way.

And he always got his way, eventually. "Gus, do your parents have a garden?"

"What for?"

Shawn pulled the remains of the Tamagotchi out of his pocket. "It deserves a hero's burial."

"You didn't take that out! Shawn, that's evidence!"

The gape again. Shawn grinned. Oh, yeah. Gus was going to regret trying to get the upper hand...

+++++++

 

 

 


End file.
